PS 3505 
.U82 P5 
1894 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



AMONG THE GRANITE 
HILLS 



BY, ^.^ 



V 



MARY m/cURRIER 



I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, 
from whence cometh my help. 

Psalms cxxi. i. 



CAMBRIDGE 

Printed at t&e KtlierfiiitJe Prtds 

1894 



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Copyright, 1894, 
By MARY M. CURRIER. 

A II rights reserved. 



CONTENTS. 

Among the Granite Hills i 

Happiness 2 

The Pine 3 

To AN Absent Friend 4 

The Best of Ali 4 

His Idol 5 

Love and Self-Sacrifice 6 

ESTELLE 7 

Her Memorial Day 8 

A Singer of Note 11 

The Patchwork Tack . . . . . .12 

A Song 14 

Nobis Amaryllidis Ir^ 15 

Sorrow is Abroad To-night 16 

The Three Friends . . . . . . .18 

The Everlasting Arms 20 

He leadeth thee 20 

In Print 21 

Old Letters 22 

Trust 23 

The Fruit of Life 24 

The Time to sing 41 

The Return 41 

When my Wee Bairnie's a Man ... 42 

White Shadows 44 



IV CONTENTS. 

Milton ......... 45 

Pray One for Another 46 

Little February comes 47 

Once Forever . . . . . . . .48 

Ferns in Winter 49 

A Link 50 

If I WERE NOT I 51 

Woman's Love 52 

Whom can I tell? 52 

Taught through Pain 53 

My Heart and I 54 

Somebody's Letter 55 

The Two Gardens . 57 

From a Four-Year-Old's Standpoint . . .58 

Don't quarrel with the Past . . . . 59 

Katie's Discovery . 60 

A Day of Sadness 61 

The Noblest ........ 63 

The Trumpeter ....... 64 

The Battle , . 65 

The Cloud and the Mountain .... 66 

The Heroine of Nancy 67 

A Sunset 69 

Atra Dies 70 

O Absalom, my Son, my Son! .... 71 

The Old Year and the New 72 

Love's Influence . 73 

The Sleepy Corner . . . . . . .74 

A Sonnet 75 

Thy Will be done 76 

Nearer to Thee 81 



CONTENTS. V 

One. Phase of City Life 82 

Lottie's Reason 84 

After the Fourth .... o.. 85 
We'll pop Some Corn To-night . . . , %6 
To One who has entered the Higher Life . 87 

The Two Songs 88 

The Secret 89 

From Different Points of View . . . .90 

Luke xii. 2 91 

II. Cor. XII. 9 92 

The Message . 92 

We miss his Follies 93 

A Paradox 94 

A Paradox 95 

Class Ode 95 

Books and Friends 97 

Mountains Green with Spruce and Pine . 98 

"Dryin'-Apple Time" . 100 

Two Hearts loi 

The Song , . . 103 

DU BIST WIE EiNE BlUME . . , , . IO3 

Little Margery waits 104 

Autumn's Avant-courier 106 

The Fittest 106 

The Song of the Mountain Brook . . . 107 

When Christmas comes 108 

To MY Muse 109 

The Reason 109 

All are Poets no 

A Picture no 

The Poet's Material in 



VI CONTENTS. 

Song for May Twenty-four iii 

An August Idyl 112 

Dreamland holds no Fairer Scene . . .113 
What have the Days brought thee? . . 114 

A Little Traveler 115 

The Changed Crowns 116 

"'Specially Me" 118 

What Boon to the Sea . . . . .118 

Faster let me learn 119 

On the Death of Phillips Brooks . . .119 

Sacrifice 120 

At Mr. Bobolink's 121 

Woodland Blossoms -125 

Excelsior 126 

Music's Ministry 127 

Poesy . .128 

East and West 129 

The Snow 129 

Shut in 130 

Faith ,131 

Behold how he loved him ! 132 

Within the Wildwood 133 

The Tear-drop . 134 

A Longing 135 

Silence 136 

Note. — Among the periodicals which have kindly allowed the use of 
material copyrighted by them, the author's thanks are especially due to 
Good Housekeeping, in whose pages " When My Wee Bairnie 's a Man," 
" We'll Pop Some Corn To-night," "■ Don't Quarrel with the Past," and 
" The Sleepy Corner " first appeared ; and to the Y^ankee Blade ^ which 
first published " We Miss His Follies." 



AMONG THE GRANITE HILLS. 



MONO the granite hills I sit, 
Afar from ocean's roar, 
But yet before me seem to flit 
Fair visions of the shore. 

The darksome pines below my feet 
Like billows shrink and swell, 

And from them comes a music sweet 
Like that within a shell. 

The mica ledges shining bright, 
The woodland wilds between. 

Like ships with sails of canvas white 
Float on a sea of green. 

And when the sun the lovely day 

To other lands doth lead, 
A dozen villages display 

That light the sailors heed. 



HAPPINESS. 




HAPPINESS. 

rjTILL dost thou seek for happiness ? 
Dost think thou canst not let it go ? 
Doth yet thy foolish heart not know 
Of that which more the soul can bless ? 

Still dost thou seek for happiness, 

And dost hope still it to obtain ? 

Ah ! friend, thy seeking all is vain, 
This labor never won success. 

Still dost thou seek for happiness ? 
If thou shouldst find it, tell me, pray, 
How thou wouldst keep it but a day ; 

And then — what sorrow and distress ! 

Still dost thou seek for happiness ? 

This fairy seek thou nevermore. 

'T will ever sport one step before, 
But never it shalt thou possess. 



THE PINE, 



Seek after peace, and faith, and grace, 
Seek after God, nor His love doubt, 
And Happiness will seek thee out 

And make thy soul her dwelling-place. 



THE PINE. 

|HY dost thou whisper, whisper ever, 
Thou towering giant pine ? 
I have listened oft, but never 
Have I heard that voice of thine. 

Great and mighty are thy branches ; 

Thou art a monarch tall ; 
Thou shouldst have a voice of thunder 

To awe the forest all. 

Still thou answerest in whispers ! 
What is it thou dost say ? 
*^ Gentleness becomes the mighty/' 
Grand pine, I say not nay. 




THE BEST OF ALL, 



TO AN ABSENT FRIEND. 




Life's brighter colors 



ESEEMS full often all the world is sad; 

rarely flush and 
glow ; 
Yet, sometimes, 'mid these darksome scenes I see 

The likeness of a face that makes me glad. 
And I am braver tlien because I know 

That thou art somewhere in this world with me. 




THE BEST OF ALL, 

T must be that I asked aright, 

Because I did receive ; 

It cannot be I asked amiss 



And made Thee, Father, grieve. 



I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou didst grant 
My prayer ; but more than this 

I thank Thee for ; for, best of all, 
I did not ask amiss. 



HIS IDOL. 




HIS IDOL. 

AY, I would not have an idol, 
Of wood, or brass, or stone ; 
Nay, I would not worship Mammon ; 



I would worship God alone. 

But were I to have an idol, 

It should be patterned after thee, 

After thy face, thy locks, thy form — • 
Like thee should mine idol be. 

And more, it should not be a clod, 
Voiceless, deaf, and seeing not ; 

It should have thy heart, true, tender, 
Thy pure purpose, and thy thought. 

Nay, I would not have an idol ; 

God from this keep thee and me. 
But were I to have an idol, 

It should be patterned after thee. 



LOVE AND SELF-SACRIFICE. 




LOVE AND SELF-SACRIFICE. 

jjHAT maketh Love to be so weak ? 
He cannot go alone ! 
Self-sacrifice must take his hand 
Till Love be stronger grown. 

What maketh Love to be so weak ? 

In wonder mortals call. 
Self-sacrifice must hold him up, 

Or Love, poor Love, will fall. 

And will Love always be so weak, 

Always need Sacrifice ? 
Will never, never his own strength 

Poor, feeble Love sufiice ? 

Not so ; to perfect stature grown 

Free, mighty, un defiled. 
He shall rule over every heart. 

He now is but a child. 



ESTELLE, 



ESTELLE. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF FLORIAN. 



HIS morning, in the sweet-heather, 

I was taking some birds from their nest, 
When an aged shepherd approached, 
And in anger thus me addressed : 
"Thou rascal, a punishment sore 

For thy cruelty should thee repay." 
I replied, " They are for Estelle." 

And the shepherd had no more to say. 

The mother, a-tremble with fear. 

Followed me in the wood, in the field. 
She cried, she lamented her fate. 

Her birdlings she prayed me to yield. 
" Give them back, give them back," she begged, 

" Of my love the sweet fruit are they." 
I replied, "They are for Estelle." 

And the bird had no more to say. 



HER MEMORIAL DA K 




HER MEMORIAL DAY. 

r|HE had a lily in her toil-worn hand. 
The frail, white, lovely thing looked 
strangely there, 
As did the last frail flake of snow that fell 
A month erst on the church-yard brown and bare. 

But yet she held it tenderly, as though 
She loved it. And she moved with heavy feet 
On past the great, rich-carven monuments. 
Fair shrines before which rose the incense sweet 

Of countless blooms, on past the humbler mounds 
Where dwarfed and stunted stones thick stood, and 

marred 
The place's beauty, as the tangled growth 
Of weaklings mars the forest's borders. Hard 

She pressed her lips together, as resolved 
No tears to shed for all her grief, nor shame 
To feel for poverty among the proud. 
Nor pain to know for bent and aching frame. 



HER MEMORIAL DA V. 9 

Around her here and there sad mourners wept, 
As each above his own beloved knelt 
To place his gift of love. But none she saw, 
None heard ; her grief alone her lone heart felt. 

She stopped beside a little, little grave. 
Whose tiny stone, no taller than the fair. 
Pure lily on its stem within her hand, 
Seemed lonely to await her coming there, 

And fondly laid her precious token down. 
And then she let her eyes pass slowly o'er 
The stone and mound, as 't were the face and 

form 
Of one not seen for years, each day loved more. 

And as Time's scars and lines one notes with 

sighs, 
So she each wind-tossed leaf, half hid in grass. 
And wind-flung twig, and birchen snarl, did mark, 
And marking them she tearless sighed, " Alas ! " 

But by and by she lifted up herself. 
And with a last, long look she turned away. 
And then she saw a child was near, whose gaze 
Was fastened on the flower. He made essay 



lo HER MEMORIAL DAY, 

To speak, but awe of something in her face 
A silence laid upon his lips. But still 
The longing eye and sweet confusion spoke, 
And more than words her vacant heart did fill 

With echoes pure, and clear, and wide, and strong. 
A moment stood they, gazing each on each, 
And all the mother in her nature rose 
And filled her throat, and thrust aside her speech. 

And slow, mute, as a lily sunward turns. 
So turned she to the flower upon the grave, 
And lifted it, and gave it to the child. 
And lo ! the tribute that but now she gave 

To senseless earth, and felt her loved one more 
Dead for the^ct, unto the living given 
Seemed not an offering to the dead, but one 
Made to her child's pure soul alive in heaven. 



A SINGER OF NOTE, 



II 



A SINGER OF NOTE. 




ITTLE Edith, fair and sweet, 
The darling of us all. 
Came from school, her eager feet 



Bounding through the hall. 



Into mamma's arms she flew, 
Arms that held her tight, 

While to mine her eyes of blue 
She lifted glad and bright. 

' I can sing do, re, mi, fa ; 

I Ve got too old for rote. 
I 'm a noted singer, mamma, 
For I can sing by note ! " 



1 2 THE PA TCHWORK TA CR\ 




THE PATCHWORK TACK. 

HAT pink stripe wuz cousin Marthy^s. 
Lor' ! I recollect it all — 
Gut it daown ter Peter Jinkins' ; 
Print wuz fearful dear that fall. 

" This dark ground with posies on it 
Wuz my mother's weddin' gaown, 
An' this with it is aunt Car'line's — 
Fust piece that she gut in taown. 

"That thare ? Lor', child ! that 's my wrapper - 
Kinder pritty when 't wuz new, 
But it faded so outrajus 

That I jest wuz mad clean thru. 

"That 's another one o' mother's ; 
We fixed it afterwards fur Ann. 
This wuz Sam'l's — little tow-head ! 
I can't pictur him a man. 



THE PATCHWORK TACK. 13 

" That square 's pritty. Susie pieced it 
Not a week afore she died. 
Susie allers liked bright colors — ^ 

How her mother allers cried 

" When she see that square ! An' this 'ere 
Gramma Anderson give me, 
All made up, an' sewed so careful — 

You would n't thought she 's eighty-three ! 

'* This blue check we gut fur apuns, 
But it suited Ann so well 
That we thought we 'd let her hev it, 
An' it wore an awful spell. 

" I tell ye what, this 'ere 's a comfort, 
Fur it brings old faces back ; 
An', ye see, I know the hist'ry 

Of ev'ry square that 's in the tack. 

" An' when I am sick an' feeble, 
An' it 's almost time ter go, 
Put this old tack on my bed, dear, 
Fur 't will do me good, I know." 



14 



A SONG. 



A SONG. 



ONELY is the desert, 
Lonely is the sea ; 
If I should forget thee 
How lonely I should be ! 




The sand hath lost a fountain, 
The sea hath lost an isle ; 

But my heart shall not lose 
Remembrance of thy smile. 



I '11 keep my treasure ever, 

To lose it fear I not ; 
In the lexicon of love 

There 's not the word " forgot." 



NOBIS AMARYLLIDIS IRM. 1 5 



NOBIS AMARYLLIDIS IR^. 

Triste lupus stabulis, maturis frugibus imbres, 
Arboribus venti, nobis Amaryllidis irae. 

Virgil. 




SAD for the flocks is the howling 

Of wolves when the pack draweth near ; 
But sadder for me is the scowling 



Of blithe Amaryllis, my dear. 

O sad for the harvest are showers, 

Breaking the ripening wheat ; 
But sadder for me are the hours 

When frowns Amaryllis, my sweet. 

O sad for the trees mount-adorning 

Are storm-winds that them do not spare ; 

But sadder for me is the scorning 
Of gay Amaryllis, my fair. 



1 6 SORROW IS ABROAD TO-NIGHT, 



SORROW IS ABROAD TO-NIGHT. 




ORROW is abroad to-night, 

Who long hath been my guest 
He paceth all the city's streets, 



Another home his quest. 

Anon he stoppeth at a door, 

Anon he strayeth slow, 
To wait for people as they pass, 

And follow where they go. 

Sorrow is abroad to-night. 

My love, stay close within ; 
For thou couldst never hear his step 

Amid the city's din. 

And never, never couldst thou flee 
If he should see thy face, 

For such as thou, alas ! he loves, 
And yearneth to embrace. 



SORROW IS ABROAD TO-NIGHT, I? 

Sorrow is abroad to-night. 

O whither will he go ? 
Beware, beware, gay city ! 

Dost not thy danger know ? 

I would that I could keep him 

From thee, my love, forever. 
I 'd make a prison of my heart. 

And he should leave it never. 

Sorrow is abroad to-night. 

Wherever he may rest 
May he not make so long a stay 

As he made in my breast. 

Ah ! he has been a grewsome mate 

These many years to me. 
But gladly would I call him back 

To keep him, love, from thee. 



i8 THE THREE FRIENDS. 




THE THREE FRIENDS. 

A temperance exercise for three little boys. 

HREE friends once met on life's highway, 
And stopped to chat a minute. 
A bottle, glass, and jug were they, 
And each had red wine in it. 



First boy. 

Said the bottle, black and tall, 
" I deceive men, one and all. 
How they love me, and me praise, 
While I fill with shame their days ! 
How they love the wine I hold 
While I laugh and take their gold ! 
Pain and hunger they can bear, 
Ragged garments they can wear ; 
But the men whom I have cursed 
Cannot bear their awful thirst.'' 

Second boy. 

Said the wine-glass, bright and clear, 
*' Very tempting I appear, 



THE THREE FRIENDS. 19 

And the lips that have me kissed 

Never can my charm resist. 

I ^m of social life the bane, i 

Dooming those who don't abstain. 

Like an adder I will sting 

Those who tribute to me bring. 

Like a serpent I will bite 

All who do in me delight." 

Third boy. 

Said the jug, so big and brown, 
Gruffly, with a darkening frown : 
" I 'm the laborer's deadly foe. 
But this truth he does not know. 
When he thinks I am his friend 
Then misfortune do I send. 
And when he but loves me more, 
Worse I send than e'er before. 
But though I may use him ill, 
He will drink my red wine still." 

The three shook hands and went away, 

Each to his course pursue ; 
But still they live unto this day. 

Don't let them ruin you. 



20 THE EVERLASTING ARMS, 



THE EVERLASTING ARMS. 




.^ 



HERE 's a story that I heard 
From one wiser far than I, 
Of the care a mother bird 
Took to teach her young to fly. 



When the little wings were weak, 
And they took their first short flight, 

The loving mother flew beneath, 
Just to keep them from affright. 

Our God, when His children fear 
And their hearts have vague alarms, 

Remindeth them that underneath 
Are the Everlasting Arms. 



HE LEADETH THEE. 

E leadeth me ! Oh, blessed thought ! 
Oh, words with heavenly comfort fraught ! 
But this is equal joy to me — 
God's hand, beloved, leadeth thee. 



IN PRINT, 



21 




IN PRINT. ' 

WAS a literary maid 
Of many an idle fancy, 

While sober, practical, and staid 
Was my sweet sister Nancy. 



So many verses scribbled 1 1 

To read them all would bore you. 

Said Nancy, " Sure, if I should try, 
I 'd get in print before you." 

In scorn I cried, " What an idea ! " 
Fate smiled a fortnight after ; 

I flew to Nancy. " See, my dear ! 
To me belongs the laughter.'' 



But on her honest face a smile 
Showed I could not entrap her. 
" I Ve been in print, dear, all the while ; 
You did n't mind my wrapper ! " 



22 OLD LETTERS. 




OLD LETTERS. 

(IHESE are the letters that gladdened my 
heart 
When the days of my waiting were long, 
When trials were many, and friendships few, 
And the tide-waves against me were strong. 

Precious old letters ! I would you could know 
How much to your coming I owed. 
How could I have traveled those darkened ways 
If you had not brightened the road ? 

Burn them? Oh, never, while life shall be mine. 

Of their messages none I 'd forget. 

Let only earth's badness be burned away ; 

Of earth's goodness there 's too little yet. 

Burn them ? Oh, never, so much it once cheered 
And strengthened my spirit to read them. 
And the time may come — nobody can know — 
When again I shall feel that I need them. 



TRUST, ; 23 




TRUST. 

FEAR not at the darkness of the way 
Before, so dark the ways my feet have 
passed. 

I cannot picture in the future vast 
A spot so rough, so black, so far from day 
That God's love would not send a blessed ray 
Of light divine to find me there, and cast 
A sunset glory me about. And fast 
And firm I there could stand with God for aye. 

To honey His love will transmute the gall^ 
And that same alchemy will turn to sweet 
Whatever thing Life unto me shall mete 

That of his store is bitterest of all ; 

And o'er a way no rougher He will call 
His people than did pass His blessed feet. 



24 THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 




THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 

Part First. 

IS morn in Eden. Pearly drops in splen- 
dor lay 
Upon the grass, touched softly by the 
sun's first ray, 
As though the myriad angels at their matin prayer 
Had told their sacred beads and left them shining 
there. 

'T is morn in Eden, but the holy angels' joy 
First since eternity began hath known alloy. 
For mother Eve has tasted of the fruit forbid, 
And Eve and Adam from God's face in fear are hid. 
'T was then, before God's wrath 'gainst man was 

e'er outpoured, 
Before was placed around the tree of life the sword. 
That Satan took upon himself the form of dove. 
And, thus indued in semblance fair of peace and 

love, 



THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 25 

Swift to the tree of life he winged. his crafty flight. 
Then with the oarage of his pinions soft and white, 
He skimmed the vast ethereal sea and made descent 
To earth, to give immortal life to mortal man intent. 

Ten thousand years are passed, but yet the watch- 
ful Prince 
Of Darkness hath not found occasion to evince 
His direful mind ; and up and down the face of 

earth 
He walks deceitly, biding till he may give birth 
To his design 'neath stars auspicious and serene. 
In all the varied shapes of beasts he had been seen, 
In all the birds of air that flit with tireless wing. 
The fish of seas, and every horrid creeping thing. 
But not of man. And now behold, a wood within, 
In human dress the machinator of all sin. 

The day is over, and the evening star hath fled 
Behind the bold, protecting mount, with hasty tread, 
Fast followed by the silver moon, whose shining 

mail 
Sheds over all the wood and glade a radiance pale. 
Crouched low beside a stream that through the for- 
est ran. 
With haggard face, and eyes a-stare, a starving man 



26 THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 

The devil sees. Some hunter who hath lost his 

wa}'', 
And 'mong the caverns wild and sombre many a day 
Hath dwelt, still seeking home, till black despair at 

length 
T)V gradual approaches hath despoiled his strength, 
And famishing he prays, " Oh, great God, let me 

die ! " 
" Ah ! would to me," the devil said, *^ might be that 

cry ! " 
And forth from in his breast the fruit of life he 

drew, 
" For life instead of death I can give unto you/' 

The hunter shrunk beneath the deviPs steady gaze. 
And to his words of guile he hearkened with amaze. 
" Alas ! " he sighed, in doleful tone. *' How sad a 

fate 
Within this forest old for me doth lie in wait 
To snatch my life ! For, truly, all that intervenes 
Between grim Death and these scarce less distract- 
ing scenes 
Is but this fruit ; and now my little all I give. 
That while I die a man more miserable may live. 
Pray, eat ; and, haply, some fair chance ere \ is 
digest 



THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 27 

Will bring thee aid." And into his gaunt hand he 
pressed 

The treacherous fruit, and from the hunter's won- 
dering face 

With mighty strides he did betake himself apace. 

The fatal fruit already lay upon his jaw 
When suddenly the famished man before him saw 
A presence bright all in celestial beauty dressed, 
And tremblingly he fell before the vision blest 
Upon his face, and faint, as in a dream, he heard 
To fall upon his heavy ear this warning word : 
'^ 'T is Satan bids thee taste the fruit of lasting life ; 
Prolong not through eternity this human strife." 
And silence fell. And when he raised at last his 

head, 
And feebly gazed about once more, by impulse led 
He turned his glazing eyes to where there perched 

anear 
A dusky bird, dim outlined in the shadows drear ; 
And slow approaching on his weak and stiffened 

knees 
He painfully at length contrived his prey to seize. 
And savagely he tore the quivering flesh apart 
And drained the living blood from the still beating 

heart. 



28 THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 

The morning dawns ; and as the shades of darkness 

fly, 

A band of hunters, who awake with startled cry 
The denizens of wood, descry beside the stream 
The prostrate object of their seeking, by the beam 
Of early day ; and tenderly their burden bear 
To fireside blest, where waiteth love and tender 
care. 

By slow degrees his waxing strength to him re- 
turned. 

And with new life, within his breast the longing 
burned 

To see once more the fruit of life, and in his hand 

To feel its touch. Anon his keen, alert eye 
scanned 

The mossy brink whereon the hunter band had 
spied 

Their comrade fainting by the careless streamlet's 
side. 

Eureka ! there it yet reposeth fair and sound. 

As though from over-bending bough it had but 
bound 

The moment past ; and as to strengthen this be- 
lief. 

Fast to its slender stem still clung the faithful leaf. 



THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 29 

Should he but eat ! to linger after friend and foe, 
Till children's children the procession sad and slow, 
That moveth to the Better Land, should join, and 

then 
To ardent onward press with ranks of coming men ; 
And still the goal, like mirage on th6 desert 

bleached, 
Be ever seeming near, but never, never reached — 
To hope the same sweet hope till hope itself grows 

tame — 
To love until the heart, inured, the subtle flame 
No more doth know than crumbling ashes, dead and 

gray, 
Perceive the gallant flames that round them leap 

and play — 
Alone to ever roam the earth without a mate — 
To feel no loving soul in Heaven can glad await 
His coming — to bear upon his shoulders weak 
And yielding all the weight of ages drear and 

bleak — 
From hunger, thirst, and pain, and sorrow no re- 
lease — 
To wage eternal warfare with no luring peace 
In vision sweet his heart to cheer. With spiteful 

toss 
He cast the wretched fruit of life upon the moss. 



30 THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 

But still he could not tempt his fixed feet from the 

spot; 
And as he tarried, musing deep, there came the 

thought 
Of worldly power, and wealth, and fame — new 

lands to know. 
New wonders of earth, sky, and depths of sea be- 
low. 
That Science should disclose — to watch inventions 

spring 
Like seeds to life, until the laden tree should fling 
Its precious fruitage from the bough, and all the 

earth 
Should gather to its store with thankful song and 

mirth — 
To sort out wisdom from the rubbish-pile of lore 
That mortals con, until from shore to sounding 

shore 
He should of all be wisest deemed — to ever frame 
Vast undertakings, undisturbed by futile claim 
Of grudging Time — the truth of prophecy to 

view — 
And nearer to the deathless fruit a step he drew ; 
" If this from bliss of Heaven debar, 't is no less 

sure 
From all the miseries of Hell a lasting cure." 




THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 3 1 

And warnings all forgot, in but an instant more 
He seized the spurned fruit and cleft it to the core. 
Then in the quiet stream that wended to the sea 
He hurled the fruit perforce, lest all should be 
death free. 

Part Second. 

HE ages haste ; yet undisturbed as on their 
way 
The flying centuries speed by from aye to 
aye, 
He stands like some bold, jagged cliff that midst 

the roar 
Of ocean sees the ships to pass forevermore. 
Not Afric's arid waste, nor Zembla's frigid clime, 
The frozen Arctic seas, nor India's pools of slime 
His steps retard. Upon the earth no slighted rod 
Remains, which bears not printed on its yielding sod, 
Or restless sand, or snow, his passing foot. Afar 
To North as where shines vertical the Polar star 
He roamed and explored ; and onward till to sight 
Entranced, the Southern Cross bedecks the star- 
gemmed night 
He pressed. Each lofty mount where under south- 
ern sun 
They bear upon their slopes four seasons blent in 
one. 



32 THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 

The fair Italian vales, and fragrant English lanes, 
Hibernia's lakes, and Albin's braes, the fertile 

plains 
America's delight, his presence knew. The isles 
That, flattered by the sea's caress, receive with 

smiles 
Upon their genial shores the wanderer, the sea. 
Heroic, fond, and gay, false-hearted though he be, 
He traversed o'er and o'er till naught was strange 

and new. 
And every land to him was home ; all tongues he 

knew. 
The earth her treasure yielded up like artless maid 
That gives her love for asking. Every mine 

repaid 
His labor seven-fold. The fertile soil its fruit 
Heaped up as though an altar pure were every shoot 
That issued forth. The mighty sun in every zone, 
Like those who serve for love, his lord's will made 

his own. 
The winds, capricious, that the waters frolic o'er, 
Their sport deferred to bear his ships from shore 

to shore. 

The ages haste. Anon his pained eyes view aghast 
The wreck of ships of state upon the Syrtes cast. 



777^ FRUIT OF LIFE. 12> 

Again from Ilium does wanton Paris fly ; 
Again the crafty Greeks illume the frightened sky " 
That watches over Troy ; and now a heathen band 
Has sacked the fanes and temples of the Holy 

Land. 
His tingling ears the groans of Poland's sons 

oppressed 
Smite, till amid the fearful din no rest 
His soul can find, and to the conflict's heat and 

brunt 
Wronged Justice silent points, and bids him to the 

front. 
No cumbrous weight of steel confined his arms 

imbued 
With Russian blood. Hard pressed, he neither 

gave nor sued 
For quarter ; but o'er writhing heaps of fallen men 
He forced his frantic way, and charged and charged 

again. 
Alas ! the thinning ranks no more can hold their 

own. 
And in the midst of raging foes he fights alone. 
But still their hostile strokes cannot his strength 

o'erpower. 
But, heart-sick at his comrades' fate, he flies the 

shower 



34 THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 

Of missiles dropping thick, and, weeping, from the 

grave 
He turns away of Poland, that he cannot save. 
Not Poland that on page historical we see, 
But twice a thousand Polands that there yet may 

be. 

Now on fair Nature's face he sees the trace of 

years, 
The earthquake feels, the avalanche's roar he 

hears ; 
Volcanoes pour forth fiery floods of molten stone ; 
Mad fires leap up that sport round dusky Vulcan's 

throne. 
He sees the devastation in the cyclone's wake. 
Vast floods sweep o'er the helpless earth and havoc 

make 
Of flowery isles, and sunny slopes, and pleasant 

meads. 
He sees the subtler influence of stream that feeds 
The ravenous sea, and frost, and sun ; but 'mong 

them all. 
Though vast areas upheave, and towering moun- 
tains fall, 
Upon the time-worn earth forever he must roam. 
His weary, longing soul can find no other home. 



THE FR UIT OF LIFE, 3 5 

The ages haste. Friend after friend, sincere and 

true, 
No sooner proves his love than he must bid adieu 
To this brief, transient life, to share the purer love 
Of all the blessed company that dwell above. 
His heart, a thousand times bereft, within him 

shrunk, 
And in his agony of soul adown he sunk 
Upon the earth and hid his face. *' Alas ! '^ he 

cried, 
"That I, alone, of all my race must here abide 
Forevermore. That ne'er my wretched eyes should 

see 
Aught but these loathsome scenes, made fair to all 

but me. 
By thought they must be yielded up. Alas ! that I 
The cursed fruit did taste. Who says to never die 
Is to remain on earth, says false, as false as hell ! 
. 'T is death to live apart from those we love full 

well.'' 
As thus he prostrate wailed, there passed him 

mocking by 
Young lovers gay, and blushing maidens sweet and 

shy, 
White-headed sires, and grand-dames slow, who on 

him turned < 



36 THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 

Their railing eye with laugh and jest. His rived 
heart burned 

With fury uncontrolled, remorse, and shame, de- 
spair, 

And all emotions deep and dark that serve to tear 

The breast of man. And with a mighty groan their 
sight 

He fled, and to the tangled wilderness took flight. 

Beneath the silent sky he lived again each year 
That ages gone he lived with wife and children 

dear. 
Till over-tortured heart for anguish scarce could 

beat. 
And death and darkness seized his soul. A vision 

sweet 
At length he dimly saw, as from his stupor back 
To consciousness he drifted slow. The gloom and 

black 
Was from his spirit passed away, and in its stead 
The morning light of love and sweet contentment 

shed 
Its golden blessings. Welcome death was come, it 

seemed, 
Death long implored for, long unhoped for, often 
^ dreamed. 



THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 37 

His wife, and children, parents, friends, he saw, 

embraced. 
No exile, from his loved country torn, and placed 
On hated shores, but free and pure he wandered 

there, 
At home, in Heaven — so he thought. But ah! 

despair. 
Again his soul invaded farther than before. 
'T was but a dream of bliss, a vision ; it was o'er. 

A new desire takes full possession of his breast. 
He lingers not. He pushes to the East, to West ; 
He seeks the North, South, every land ; but 

searches most 
Where playful waves steal slyly to the sandy coast. 
Among the shells and seaweed ceaselessly he peers, 
Now hopefully, despairing now, the while the years 
Still roll. The fruit of life, so rudely flung aside. 
He yearns to spy, borne safely landward by the 

tide^ 
For, deathless, as himself, he trusteth that there 

lies 
Upon some tossing crest, or cliff, or strand, his 

prize. 
More eagerly than shipwrecked sailor strains his 

eyes 



38 THE FRUIT OF LIFE. 

To catch some glimpse of vessel where the stormy 

skies 
The ocean meet, he strives once more a glimpse to 

gain 
Of that dread fruit, the cause of all his woe and 

pain. 
The ages haste. His eye, upon the surging main 
Embarked, has recognized afar the fruit again. 
The billows bear it on. He cannot wait, but leaps 
With throbbing pulse, and brain awhirl, into the 

deeps. 
'T is his ! for cycles past no joy his heart hath 

known. 
But now his unsealed eyes shed tears upon the 

stone 
Whereon he stands — wild tears of joy and glad- 
ness. Out 
Into the world he dashes, with one grating shout 
Of triumph. His the mission dark to lead astray 
A mortal, a companion to obtain for aye. 

The ages haste. By all allurements deft and nice 
To share his wretched fate he striveth to entice 
The sons of earth ; rash youth, in whom life's love 

is strong ; 
Decrepit age, whose wasted life is passed in wrong, 



THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 39 

And who beseeches wildly to retrace his way 
And live again in rectitude each misspent day ; 
The rich and poor, the high and low. 'Tis all for 

naught. 
Some magic influence seems fated to athwart 
His awful hope. The anxious, over-bending skies 
Rejoice. From Nature's heart glad hallelujahs 

rise. 

The ages haste. As when a body all the rays 
Of light absorbs, \ is dark to the beholder's gaze, 
'T was thus his mind, that every tint, and shade, 

and hue 
Of happiness and sorrow, bliss and anguish knew 
Became as black and blank as night. Day after 

day, 
Year after year, upon his couch he torpid lay. 
No note he took of time, or great events occurred ; 
No loving voice of friend his ear half-deafened 

heard ; 
By charity watched over, naught he knew of all ; 
No longer good or evil to his lot might fall. 
The baneful fruit was ever in his hand, although 
E'en what it was his mind beclouded did not know. 
But as in dreams the sleeper seizeth on a fold 
And clutcheth tight, and feareth to relax his hold 



40 THE FRUIT OF LIFE, 

Lest some calamity ensue, so he his grip 

Upon the fruit retained, and dared not let it slip. 

At last like simple babe that to its mouth commits 
Whatever lies at hand, and no distinction wits. 
The leaf that heals the nations from its stem he 

tore, 
And to his ready mouth with shaking fingers bore. 
And lo ! the fruit of life the leaf annulleth, blest, 
And from his living death he goeth to his rest. 



THE RETURN. 



41 



THE TIME TO SING. 




S it only when the sun shines 
Thy heart is strong ? 
Is it only when the birds sing 
We hear thy song ? 
Ah ! my sweet singer, it is when 

Clouds are threatening, 
And the birds have ceased their carols 
That thou shouldst sing. 



THE RETURN. 




CAME back after thirty years. 

And all my friends were gone. 
The place seemed queer, for all was 
changed 
That my eyes rested on. 
But all at once I heard a voice, 

A glad, familiar call ; 
There sat the very chipmunk yet 
That I left on the wall ! 



42 WHEN MY WEE BAIRNIE 'S A MAN. 



WHEN MY WEE BAIRNIE 'S A MAN. 




SIT i' the gatherin' shadows 

Wi' my bairnie close clasped to my 
breast. 
He 's capered a' day like the lambkins, 

An' now my sma' laddie must rest. 
An' I sit i' the little, low rocker, 

An' hush 'im to sleep ; an' I plan 
O' a' the great comfort he '11 bring me 
When my wee bairnie 's a man. 

We '11 dwell i' a snug, cosy cottage, 

Wi' the ivy vines clamb'rin' about, 
An' the sweetest an' brightest o' posies 

A-bloomin' v/ithin an' without. 
An' the birds will come chirpin' an' flutterin', 

An' singin' as gay as they can. 
To build their little new houses. 

When my wee bairnie 's a man. 



WHEN MY WEE BAIRNIE 'S A MAN, 43 

An' a' the dear, bonny bairnies 

From over the green, grassy lea, 
Will love to stop at our cottage, 

An' talk wi' my bairnie an' me. 
Their sweet little innocent faces, 

That me an' my darlin' will scan. 
Will cheer us, an' we '11 be so happy, 

When my wee bairnie 's a man. 

Fair little slumberin' laddie, 

Than a' you are dearer to me, 
An' a kiss from your lips red as roses 

Is sweeter than honey can be. 
Sleep sweet, my dear little bonny, 

An' grow just as fast as you can. 
For O, a' the world '11 be joyous 

When my wee bairnie 's a man. 



■ 



44 WHITE SHADOWS. 



WHITE SHADOWS. 

HITE shadows, white shadows ! I saw 

them this morn, 
Where the hoar-frost lay the fair green- 
sward upon. 
The sun arose bright, and he melted it all, 
Except in the shade of the trees and the wall. 

White shadows, how lovely ! It must be con- 
fessed, 

I never knew shadows such beauty possessed. 

The gay sunlight itself did never surpass 

The beautiful frost-work wrought there on the 
grass. 

Perhaps, when life's autumn to us shall be nigh, 
The shadows that long in our pathway did lie 
Transformed into beauty will burst on our sight, 
No longer black shadows, but shadows of white. 

Then welcome the autumn, and welcome the shade. 
At shadows no more shall our hearts be dismayed ; 
For we know the Father is loving us aJl, 
And is blessing us oft through shadows that fall. 



MILTON, 45 



MILTON. 




MMORTAL poet, to earth's glory blind ! 
That brighter glory which we hope to 
view 

In realms celestial just beyond the blue, 
To thy blest vision, cleared and refined, 
In all its wondrous splendor forth hath shined ; 
And Sheol's horrors, which the lost pursue 
With torments such as never mortal knew, 
Thou sawest with the far sight of thy mind. 

Before thy death thou passedst the abyss ; 

But after death with us thou still dost rest. 

And doubly art thou, matchless poet, blest, 
For immortality in Heaven, I wis. 

Is not alone thy gift by God's bequest. 
Immortal life on earth thou shalt not miss. 



4^ PRAY ONE FOR ANOTHER. 




PRAY ONE FOR ANOTHER. 

JAMES V. 1 6. 

" F ever again I am tempted 
To do that which is wrong 
Or to leave undone any duty, 
Or leave unsung a song, 
Oh, may this thought hasten to seek me 

Wherever I may be : 
It may be that this very moment 
You are praying for me ! 

If ever again you are tempted, 

If dark should be your way^ 
If heavy should seem all the burdens 

That on your shoulders lay, 
Oh, never lose heart for a moment, 

For, maybe, if you knew, 
It is when your way is the darkest 

That I am praying for you- 



LITTLE FEBRUARY COMES. 47 




LITTLE FEBRUARY COMES. 

ITTLE February comes, 

A dwarf among his brothers \ 
But we are glad to see him, 
And greet him like the others. 

Of days he has the fewest. 

Of holidays the most ; 
Not July nor December 

Of more than one can boast. 

Little February comes, 

A dwarf among his brothers ; 

And all our outdoor treasures 
With his snowdrifts he smothers. 

With Washington's birthday 
And Valentine's day, he stands 

Looking for our favor, 
A gift in both his hands. 



48 ONCE FOREVER. 

Little February comes, 

A dwarf among his brothers ; 

But he 's a jolly fellow, 

We love him like the others. 



ONCE FOREVER. 

[jUSH ! methinks I hear a whisper 
Soft, amid earth's strife : 
Death comes no more once forever 
Than doth every hour of life. 

Fall these words as falls a warning, 

Yet with mercy rife : 
Death comes no more once forever 

Than doth every hour of life. 

Keep these words in mind, O maiden, 

Heed them, mother, wife : 
Death comes no more once forever 

Than doth every hour of life. 




FERNS IN WINTER, 49 



cy ^ 



FERNS IN WINTER. 

J|OW beautiful my ferns are ! 
How well they look to-day ! 
Come, Louise, and see them. 
Are they not charming, say ? 

How delicate this fern leaf ! 

You don't see what I mean ? 
Why, here, upon the window, 

As plain as e'er was seen. 

Old Jack Frost makes a present 
These winter morns to me, 

And puts it on the window, 
Where all the world may see. 

He knows that ferns in winter 

Are cheering to the heart ; 
I 've none of Nature's flowers, 

So he brings those of Art. 



50 A LINK. 

A generous old fellow 

You think him, I am sure. 

And, strange ! he slights the rich folks, 
And remembers all the poor. 



A LINK. 

S this to thee a weary day, 
A day that passeth slow, 
A day that burdeneth thine heart 
With some new weight of woe ? 

Dost thou look back to youthful days, 
And, looking, thou dost sigh ? 

And forward lookest thou to Heaven, 
With longing in thine eye ? 

Be patient. Know thou that this day 

Is in life's lengthening chain 
A necessary link between 

Joys past and joys to come again. 




IF I WERE NOT L 51 




IF I WERE NOT I. 

F I were not I, oh, who would I be ? 
Who can answer this question for me ? 
Would I be a soldier brave, 
Belted sailor on the wave, 
Scholar with his cap and gown. 
Singer, painter, poet, clown, 
Or peasant, with his baby on his knee ? 

If I were not I, oh, who would I be ? 

Who is purest, noblest, from taint most free ? 
Who puts songs into the heart ? 
Who smiles back the tears that start i 
Who, wherever she doth move, 
Worketh only works of love ? 

If I were not I, I 'd be thou, Marie. 

If I were not I, but were thou, Marie, 
Then would my happiness perfected be ? 

Would I long for nothing more ? 

Would my cup then bubble o'er ? 



52 



WHOM CAN I TELL ? 



Nay, dear Marie, I should sigh, 
Being thou, that thou wert I, 
Else how should Love abide with thee and me ! 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

[|ER first song was of love ; 

'T was penned at shy thirteen. 
Her last song was of love j 
And sixty years she 'd seen. 
And all her life was love 




The years that rolled between. 




WHOM CAN I TELL? 

Y heart is as glad as it can be ; 
Whom can I tell ? 
Some one should share this joy with me ; 
Whom can I tell ? 



Tell the dear friend that loved thee the best 
When thou wast troubled and distressed. 



TAUGHT THROUGH PAIN. 53 



TAUGHT THROUGH PAIN. 




jjALE-FACED, the mother bent above her 
child 
That tossed and moaned in helpless 
pain. 
" Great God," she prayed, ^^oh, not in vain 
May I beg and entreat Thee, Undefiled, 

"That soon this awful suffering shall cease. 
Would I could bear it in his stead ! '' 
But gazing still upon his bed 
In her eyes sudden shone the light of peace. 

" T is thus Thou longest, O Most Holy One, 
To bear the pain of each poor soul. 
And of its sickness make it whole, 
And hast longed thus since man and sin begun, 

" But like my child, that comprehendeth not 
My heart's great love, nor all my grief. 
Nor how I fain would send relief. 
We do not know. Thy longing is for naught. 



54 MY HEART AND J. 

'^ It cannot be that I may bear his pain. 
He cannot come to me and rest, 
Nor give his pain unto the breast 
That yearns to take it so. But ne'er again 

" May I hear Thy voice saying, ' Come to Me,' 
And hasten not to Thy blest feet 
To find the rest that is so sweet, 
And yield my pains and burdens all to Thee.'* 



MY HEART AND I. 

HE Lord hath heard my prayer at last. 
He doeth all things well. 
His praises will I ever sing, 
And of His wisdom tell. 

Yea, God is v/ise, yea, God is kind 

To all who trust His care. 
But, heart, it never canst thou prove 

By this : He heard thy prayer. 




SOMEBOD TS LE TTER, 5 S 



SOMEBODY'S LETTER. 




CAN see you from my window 
When I look across the street, 

And I don't believe a maiden 

Could be fairer or more sweet ; 
And I know without the telling — 

Ah ! I could n't know it better — 
What it is that 's going to happen : 
Somebody '11 get a letter. 

I can see the thoughtful wrinkles 

On your pretty little face, 
And I 'd give my bottom penny 

To be in somebody's place ; 
For he 's written to his sweetheart, 

And now his gentle debtor 
Sits there thinking what to answer : 

Somebody '11 get a letter. 

Not too tender, not too formal. 

Must the careful missive be. 
Really, 't is a task to write it 

I can very plainly see. 



56 SOME BOD Y'S LE TTER. 

But that it is, too, a pleasure 
I would willingly be bettor, 

For I just now caught you smiling 
As you penned the letter. 

Is he fair, or dark, I wonder ; 

Are his eyes of brown or blue ? 
But he surely must be faithful, 

And he loves his sweetheart true. 
And I '11 warrant that though absent, 

His heart does not forget her. 
And he 's looking for the coming 

Of that very little letter. 



THE TWO GARDENS, 57 




THE TWO GARDENS. 

ET us make a little garden, 
Lads and lassies, you and I, 
For the summer-time is coming, 
And the sowing-time is nigh. 



We shall want the sweetest flowers, 
Pinks, and pansies, mignonette, 

Sweet peas, lilies, ferns, and snowballs, 
And the modest violet. 

Look well lest the ground be stony. 
Full of cruel thorns, or weeds, 

For the garden must be good ground 
Where we sow our tiny seeds. 

Pansies are for thoughts of dear ones. 

For sincerity the fern. 
Snowballs bring us thoughts of Heaven, 

Of lilies purity we learn. 



S8 FROM A FOUR-YEAR-OLD'S STANDPOINT. 

Let us, as we plant these flowers, 
Plant their meanings in the heart ; 

Let us see that weeds and nettles 
Never there do get a start ; 

For the heart is like a garden, 
And we should only plant therein 

Seeds of love, and truth, and beauty, 
Keeping out the seeds of sin. 

We '11 plant, then, two little gardens, 

Lads and lassies, you and I, 
For the summer-time is coming, 

And the reaping by and by. 



FROM A FOUR-YEAR-OLD'S STANDPOINT. 

HAT news, my darling, to-day ? 
I asked as she entered the room, 
Flushed and sweet. And what did she 
say ? 
' The roses, aunt May, are in bloom.'' 




DON'T QUARREL WITH THE PAST 59 



DON'T QUARREL WITH THE PAST. 




ON'T pick a quarrel with the Past, 
My friend, whate'er you do. 
Don't trifle with it ; let it be, 



And it won't trouble you. 
But if you tease it long enough, 

Some day you '11 stand aghast 
To see how 't will itself avenge, — 

Don't pick a quarrel with the Past. 

Don't pick a quarrel with the Past, 

My friend, but go your way. 
And if you must a quarrel have, 

Come quarrel with To-day. 
To-day is nearer of your size. 

The Past a monster, vast, 
Invulnerable, and untamed, — 

Don't pick a quarrel with the Past. 



6o KA TIE 'S DISCO VER Y. 

Don't pick a quarrel with the Past, 

My friend, for if you knew, 
The Past has other foes enough 

To fight, and so have you. 
But if you willfully persist, 

You '11 surely be outclassed, 
And all your other foes will laugh, — 

Don't pick a quarrel with the Past 



KATIE'S DISCOVERY. 




WAS Katie's first ride in the steam cars, 

Irish Katie — and all was so new ! 
And she burst into glad exclamations 
O'er all that came to her view. 



By and by her eye fell on the bell-rope, 

And clear her baby voice rose : 
" Look, mamma, look ! see the clothes-line 

Where car-peoples hang out their clothes ! " 



A DAY OF SADNESS. 6 1 




A DAY OF SADNESS. 

HE day was one of sadness, 

And I sat wondering why. 
The day was June's own rarest, 
Beloved ones were nigh. 

And I found out the reason 

At setting of the sun ; 
It was because no loving deed 

For Christ's sake I had done. 

The day had seemed a failure, 

In spite of sun and song, 
For I 'd been thinking of myself 

All day Jong, all day long. 

I had dwelt on youthful hopes 

Forever from me flown, 
I had forgotten others' loves. 

And thought upon my own. 



62 A DAY OF SADNESS. 

But as the sun was parting 
From me, I heard him say 

That I, as well as Titus, 
Had lost a precious day. 

He who his silver loseth 

Again may find it his ; 
But no lost day comes ever, 

And none its like there is. 

Then why dwell on cherished hopes 

That are forever flown ? 
Learn thy lesson from thy grief. 

Then let thy grief alone. 

Light, has He said, His burdens ; 

More heavy far are they 
That our own fingers fashion 

And we upon us lay. 

If day-dreams go by contraries. 
As do the dreams of night, 

Is that a fate too hard for those 

Who dream when they should fight ? 




THE NOBLEST. 6s 

Sad days will come in legions 

To him who is enticed 
To think of self more often 

Than of the Master, Christ ; 

And all the days be failures, 

In spite of sun and song. 
To him who does no loving deed 

For Christ's sake all day long. 



THE NOBLEST. 

HE man that sings to drive away his pain 
Is one of the most noble that we see ; 
But he who, heart-sick, sings to ease the 
pain 
Of others, is the noblest that can be. 



64 



THE TRUMPETER, 



THE TRUMPETER. 

A Latin Fable. 

NCE I read a little fable ; 
It was written long ago, 
But it taught a wise old lesson 
That 't was worth my while to know. 




A gay trumpeter was taken 
In a battle, and implored, 
" Spare a man who stands before you 
Bearing neither shield nor sword ; 

" I am unarmed, unprotected \ 

Save my trumpet naught I hold." 
But the enemy responded : 
" For the reason that you Ve told 

" You shall perish, who thus shunning 
All the battle's fearful brunt, 
By your cowardice and cunning 
Urge on others to the front.'* 



THE BATTLE, 



65 



THE BATTLE. 




E cannot lose the battle, 
The victory is ours, 
For God is fighting with us 
With His almighty povv^ers ; 

But let him who is weary, 

Who longs for peace and rest. 

Know peace will come the soonest 
To him who fights the best. 

To lis can come no glory 

When the battle 's won. 
For victory was certain 

When first the fight begun. 

'Tis peace that will reward us 
When ends the conflict blest, 

And peace will come the soonest 
To him who fights the best. 



66 THE CLOUD AND THE MOUNTAIN, 




THE CLOUD AND THE MOUNTAIN. 

HERE 's a cloud upon the mountain, 
But the mountain does n't care ; 
As serene and grand he standeth 
As though no cloud were there. 

There 's a cloud upon the mountain, 

And it 's hid him since it came, 
But the dwellers in the valley 

Feel his presence just the same. 

There 's a cloud upon the mountain, 
But, think, how long will it stay ? 

A million clouds have come before, 
A million gone away. 

There 's a cloud upon the mountain. 

But the mountain does n't care, 
For he knows it cannot harm him, 

And that soon the sky '11 be fair. 



THE HEROINE OF NANCY. 67 



THE HEROINE OF NANCY. 




N mine ear the voice of wailing 
Grates in dread, discordant din. 
Ah ! what mean these cries of an^ish ? 
Is it punishment for sin ? 

Haggard woe is come to Nancy, 

Lovely Nancy of Lorraine. 
Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, 

Hath no mercy ; prayers are vain. 

In the fairest street of Nancy 

Stand in. line the young and old, 
For a tenth the city's people 

Shall be slain, saith Charles the Bold. 

Near the front the faithful governor 

And his daughter Telesile 
Stand awaiting calm the herald 

Who the victims' death shall seal. 



68 THE HEROINE OF NANCY, 

One, two, three. Alas ! the herald 
Nears the daughter and her sire. 

Oh, the awful ten is falling 
On her father ! Gleams a fire 

In the daughter's eyes of azure, 
And like arrow from the bow 
To her father's place she flyeth. 
• " Justice," cries he, *' justice ! Not so ; 

*' Let on me be spent thy vengeance. 

I was tenth ; it was not she." 
"Nay," she answers, "thou art witness, 

That the number came to me." 

"To my place she sprang to save me," 

Cries the old man hoarsely. " Hold ! " 
And the herald in amazement 

Led them both to Charles the Bold. 

" Here are two who strive for slaughter ; 
Let thy pleasure, lord, be known." 
But the rude Charles' better nature 
Triumphed o'er his heart of stone. 



A SUNSET. 69 

" Noble father, lovely maiden, 

Mercy's sweetness thou dost prove. 
I will spare thee and thy people 
For thy bravery and love/' 



A SUNSET. 

ING MIDAS' hand has touched the sky 
Just now there in the west. 
Above the hills the cloudlets lie 
In golden splendor dressed. 




Gaze earnestly, ere 't is too late, 

On beauty unsurpassed. 
Old Midas soon his gold will hate ; 

Not long the spell will last. 



70 



ATRA DIES. 




ATRA DIES. 

HE sun rose red 

From a smoky sky ; 
The breeze on the hill 
Did fainting lie ; 
The lake was only 
A smoky glass ; 
The shadows stirred not 
On the grass. 



The red sun wept 

Beneath his veil ; 
The breeze died, ere 

It reached the vale ; 
The glassy lake 

Hid what it saw ; 
The shades stirred not 

All day for awe. 



O ABSALOM, MY SON, MY SON! 7 1 

A red spot upon 

The earth did lie, 
Beneath the red spot - 

In the sky. 
The day was lost 

In eventide — 
That day it was 

That Abel died. 




O ABSALOM, MY SON, MY SON! 

i|ND one said unto him that mourned 
With exceeding bitter cry, 
^' Why dost thou so bewail the dead, 
Since mortals all shall die ? 
He needeth not thy prayers and tears ; 

He heareth not thy sigh." 
But still the father hid his face, 
And this was his reply : 
" He needeth not my prayers and tears, 
But, tell me, do not I ? " 



72 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 




THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 

HE gray old year is dead and buried ; 

All the solemn rites are o'er ; 
We have laid him with his fathers, 
And shall see his face no more. 

Heavy were our hearts at parting, 

For we loved the kind old year. 
Proved friends are soonest trusted ; 

Strangers may be insincere ; 

And the new year is a stranger, 

And his face is stern and bold. 
And his greeting was but haughty 

When the old year's knell was tolled. 

Yet, perhaps, beneath his rudeness 

He is true and tender-hearted. 
And it may be we shall love him 

As the year that has departed. 



LOVE'S I NFL UENCE. 73 

All our kind friends once were strangers 
And we looked at them askance, 

And the wealth of their affection 
Was not shown us at a glance. 

We will not so soon distrust him, 
We '11 not let our hearts grow cold, 

For perhaps the youthful new year 
Will be gracious as the old. 




LOVE'S INFLUENCE. 

HIS earth was a desert forsaken 
In the days long, long ago. 
And upon its desolate surface 
No living thing did grow ; 
But love, a beautiful fountain. 

Sprung up in the midst of the waste. 
And by streams, and forests, and flowers, 
Forever the sand was displaced. 



74 THE SLEEPY CORNER, 




THE SLEEPY CORNER. 



ESS, and Jennie, and Dot, and Joe, 
Off with a rush and a scramble go. 
What 's the matter, you 'd like to 
know ? 
They 're after the Sleepy Corner. 



Every evening after tea 

Just such a scamper as this I see. 

And the little rogues cry out to me, 

*^ We 're after the Sleepy Corner ! ' 

Beside the fire that sparkles bright 
There is a niche that they fill tight ; 
That is the goal they reach each night, 
And that is the Sleepy Corner. 

Droops and nods each fair little head ; 
Hardly a sleepy word is said ; 
Four little folks are ready for bed — 
Good-by to the Sleepy Corner, 



A SONNET, 75 



A SONNET. 




ESEEMS I am like one about to start 
Upon a journey for which oft I Ve 
planned 

Unto a fair and sunny distant land ; 
And as comes nearer the day to depart, 
The thought comes oftener into my mind 
Of those things which my need shall bid me take, 
When joyfully the journey I shall make, 
And what things, useless, I can leave behind. 

Of peace, and joy, and meekness I shall need 

To carry much, and purity of heart, 

And love that to the farthest shall extend ; 

But bitterness, and anger, spite, and greed, 

I will not take with me as I depart. 

I shall not need them at my journey's end. 



76 THY WILL BE DONE, 




THY WILL BE DONE. 

I. 

ER mother died. I found her by life's way 

With dust on her head ; 
] And as there passed her by the sad, the gay, 
This was all she said : 



" If I meet her, meet her, meet her, 
Over the silent sea, 
Only meet her, meet her, meet her, 

That will be heaven for me.'' 

I paused a moment. I could not go by 
While my saddened ear 

That monotonous, heart-rending cry 
From those lips could hear. 

And gazing on that grief-distracted face, 
My warm blood was iced 

To think her heaven was the meeting-place 
With other than Christ. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 77 

And I spake softly, softly, as I heard, — 
Wet mine own eyes were, — 
" Hath the Lord made thee promise in His word 
That thou shalt meet her ? 

" Dost thou love her more than Him thou dost 
love ? 
What if it should be 
Thou couldst not meet her in that land above 
O'er the silent sea ? " 

But she looked on me blankly as I spake, 

Looked blankly and long, 
But unto me no answer did she make 

Except the same song : 

" If I meet her, meet her, meet her, 
Over the silent sea. 
Only meet her, meet her, meet her. 

That will be heaven for me." 

For this song, like a hermit in a dell, 

In her inmost heart, 
Driving away all other songs did dwell, 

Lonely and apart. 



78 THY WILL BE DONE, 

No more to her my heart could find to say, 

Though it longed to speak 
Words that would drive grief from her soul away 

And tears from her cheek ; 

But fervently I prayed that every one 

Soon might be forgiven 
Who saith, *' Let Thy will on this earth be done 

If mine be done in heaven." 



II. 



Years after I another did perceive, 
With step sad and slow, 

Who never lifting up her eyes did grieve, 
And this was her woe : 

" I shall never meet him, never ; 
He is dead. 
He will lie asleep forever 
In that bed.'' 

With earnestness I answered, " Sister, nay ; 

Believe this no more. 
But rather that immortal souls are they 

Who dwelt here of yore." 



THY WILL BE DONE. 79 

The mourner ceased her slow and feeble pace ; 

And as though afraid 
To trust me, looking up into my face 

Husky answer made : 

" And shall I meet him somewhere when I die ? " 
And ere one could guess 
Her thought, the flash of a blade met my eye 
Half hid by her dress. 

I caught her hand and snatched the blade away, 
And answering said, 
" Alas, my sister ! that I cannot say, 
But he is not dead. 

" But this I know, that what the soul shall need 
God will give each one ; 
And if it ever shall be best, indeed, 
Thou wilt meet thy son. 

" But willful acts of thine bring not thy feet 
E'en one step more near 
The place where thy hungering heart shall meet 
Him who is so dear.*' 



8o THY WILL BE DONE. 

III. 

And passing on my way I thought of thee 

At my side no more. 
I wondered what the blessings there could be 

For God's loved in store. 

There must be promises God cannot make, 
Though mighty His powers ; 

And this not for His limitation's sake 
But because of ours. 

For ne'er have heard our ears, nor seen our eyes, 

Nor conceived the heart. 
Those things which God doth keep a glad surprise 

Where tears have no part. 

But He who promises eternal bliss 

Our frame understands, 
For spirits of that world and hearts of this 

Are made by His hands. 

We who have known His will to be but love. 

Here, unto each one, 
With perfect trust can say, " In realms above 

Let Thy will be done." 



NEARER TO THEE. 8i 



NEARER TO THEE. 




EARER, my God," I sang, "nearer to 

Thee, 
E 'en though it be a cross that raiselh 
me." 
And God one day in Heaven my singing heard, 
And, looking down. He took me at my word. 

A cross He sent ; but while my eyes were dim 
With tears, I still sang the same dear old hymn ; 
And as in tears my heavy cross I bore, 
My soul drew nearer to Him than before. 

That cross was lifted long ago, but yet 
Its weight my shoulders never will forget ; 
Yet, this remembering, with constant will, 
" Nearer, my God, to Thee," I 'm singing still. 

" Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee." 
Send thou Thy heaviest cross, I pray, to me. 
If in that way alone it is Thy plan 
That I shall come the nearest that I can. 



82 ONE PHASE OF CITY LIFE. 




ONE PHASE OF CITY LIFE. 

KEN Stan' it in the mornin', 

When there \s plenty work ter do, 
An' I never hurry 'bout it ; 
'T ain't no object ter be thru. 
But when ev'rything is seen ter, 

An' the time is goin' slow, 
Then I kinder seem ter hanker 
Fer the folks I use ter know. 

An' tho' Jotham don't complain none, 

Fer 't was never Jotham's way. 
He keeps settin' by the winder 

Watchin' people ev'ry day. 
An' ev'ry little while he hollers, 

" See, Jane ! see that man ; I vum, 
He looks jest like Cap'n Moses 

T' use ter keep the store ter hum ! " 



ONE PHASE OF CITY LIFE, 83 

An' pritty soon it 's, " See that woman ! 

I should say 't was Sally Ann." 
An' then he sees a boy like Willie, 

Or, p'r'aps, our hired man. 
An' 't was yisterdy, my goodness ! 

That he give me sech a start ; 
Fer all ter once says 'e, " There 's Rover ! 

You old rascal, bless your heart ! " 

Wall, o' course, I laughed some at 'im 

When I sensed what 't was he meant, 
But I did n't feel real funny, 

Tho' I mean ter be content. 
An' ter-day he 's watchin' closer 

Than he 's ever watched before, 
An' I b'lieve it 's all fer nothin' 

But jes' ter see that dog once more. 



34 



LOTTIE 'S REASON. 




LOTTIE'S REASON. 

g|OTTIE watched the shadows lengthen, 
As the sun was falling low, 
And her eyes grew wide with wonder, 
And her cheeks took sunset's glow. 

Finally she bounded towards me, 
Crying, " Mamma, don't 'oo know 

Why 'e trees at every sunset 
Make 'e funny shadow drow .-* " 



I could not help laughing at her. 
For she seemed in earnest so ; 

And kissing my discoverer. 
Playfully I answered, *'No." 

" When 'e pretty sun is hiding. 
All 'e trees stand on za toes, 
An' za reach za heads up taller 
'Cause to see which way 'e goes." 



AFTER THE FOURTH, 



85 



AFTER THE FOURTH. 




HILIP, dearest, fairest laddie, 
With pensive eyes of gray, 
Soberly the lights of heaven 
Watched, all shining far away. 

^* Mamma dear," at last he whispered. 

With the softest, faintest sigh, 
*' I should like to be an angel 

And live up there in the sky/' 

** How could mamma spare you, darling ! '' 
And I smoothed his silken hair. 

" But tell me the reason, Phihp, 
Why you wish to live up there.'' 

" 'Cause " — he paused to watch the twinkle 
Of one star than all more bright, 

** 'Cause the angels up in heaven 
Play with fireworks every night." 



86 WE 'LL POP SOME CORN TO-NIGHT. 




WE'LL POP SOME CORN TO-NIGHT. 

^OW the north wind whistles 
Down the valley white ! 
W\ John, go get the popper ; 
We '11 pop some corn to-night. 
The coals are all a-glowing, 

Plump cheeks glow in the light ; 
John, go get the popper, 

We '11 pop some corn to-night. 

It 's just the night for laughter, 

It 's just the night for fun ; 
We '11 out-roar old Boreas, 

For we are four to one. 
Come, Bess, help with the shelling ; 

Nell, get a basin bright. 
And, John, go get the popper, 

We '11 pop some corn to-night. 



ENTERED THE HIGHER LIFE. 87 

The giddy corn is dancing » 

And jumping all about. 
Careful, John, be careful 

Or it will all be out. 
Don't you let it burn, now ; 

Shake with all your might ; 
Shake and shake the popper. 

We '11 pop some corn to-night. 



TO ONE WHO HAS ENTERED THE HIGHER 
LIFE. 




OD be with thee," oft has been my prayer 
When before God's throne my soul did 
wait, 



No boon could I crave for thee so great. 
" God be with him," breathed I on the air. 

" God be with thee," never shall I pray, 
Dear one, again, for it has been God's will, 
To grant thy soul a greater blessing still ; 
Thou art to be with Him, with Him, alway. 



88 



THE TWO SONGS. 



THE TWO SONGS. 




KNOW a sad, sad song ; 

Shall I sing it now ? 
Will it set right one wrong, 



Or comfort one brow ? 

I know a sad, sad song ; 

Lives one who does not ? 
Shall each sing his own grief, 

Lest it be forgot ? 

I know a glad, glad song ; 

Sing it wouldst not thou ? 
It may make one heart strong 

That is not strong now. 



I know a glad, glad song ; 

Some, meseems, do not ; 
Griefs are all remembered, 

Joys are all forgot. 



THE SECRET. 89 

I will sing the glad song 

Where Gladness hides, the elf ! 

I will not sing the sad song 
Even to myself. 




THE SECRET. 

HE woodlands revealed me a secret, 
Oh, softly, so softly, they told it 1 
I listened full closely to hear them, 
And joyed that to me they 'd unfold it. 

But, woman-like, after a season, — 
The secret was too sweet to hide it, — 

I dared to the friend of my bosom 
In softest of phrase to confide it. 

But lo ! my friend laughed at me gayly, 
Till tears to her eyelids were swelling. 

Said she at last, *^ That is no secret ; 

That 's what the woods always are telling ! '^ 




90 FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW, 



FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW. 

MAN of the world and a poet, one day, 
One midwinter day when the sky was 
serene, 

Unaccompanied passed o'er the self-same way ; 

And said the poet, " Friend, what hast thou seen ? " 

" I much observed — my time would fail 
Before I told you each detail ; 
But as I passed the Smith estate 
I noticed by the barnyard gate 
Some sleek cattle. 

" The ice upon the pond is thick. 
And should be cut, I told 'em, quick. 
John Brown is getting up his wood ; 
It 's mostly birch, but there 's some good, 
Dry rock-maple. 

" I met Tom Pratt with his new sleigh ; 
It 's not worth what he had to pay. 
And Gray's house, north side, do you know, — 
'T was clear by contrast with the snow — 
Much needs painting. 



LUKE XII. 2, 91 

* They 're cutting lumber on the hill, 
And hauling it to Jones' mill. 
The road 's the best it 's been this year, 
But we '11 have a thaw, I fear. 
But what saw you ? " 

Then said the poet, " I saw, as I passed 
Where the brook along by the road runs fast. 
Three icicle candles mocking the sun ; 
Dripping they sparkled, but no light gave one. 
And all the while till I reached my own door 
I saw the three candles, and nothing more." 



LUKE XII. 2. 

LL that 's hid shall be made known, 

This is our God's decree. 
Nothing shall be unrevealed ; 
Nothing shall be aye concealed ; 
Time shall solve all mystery. 

Every secret shall be shown. 

The evil and the good ; 
And the heart that, pure and leal. 
Hath no secret to conceal. 

That, too, shall be understood. 





92 THE MESSAGE. 



IL COR. XII. 9. 

|HEN thy hand lies heavy, Father, 
On our shoulders, frail and weak, 
And in faith we kneel before Thee> 
And thy promised help we seek. 
Then this thought comes like a presence 

Wondrous, from beyond the veil : 
Thou dost give the strength Thou testeth, 
And we know it cannot fail. 

THE MESSAGE. 

TO FLORA E. M 

H, could I speak but once, dear, 
Unto that soul of thine. 
What is the message that would go 
Unto thy soul from mine 1 

What is so true, so pure, so sweet, 

That nothing would remain 
For heart to wish to speak or hear 

If I could speak again ? 




WE MISS HIS FOLLIES. 93 

So many blessed things to say, 

And I can say but one ! 
What shall I wish to have said 

When this life shall be done ? 

I have added them all together, 
And this sum do I see : 
" God is love.'' Pass on the word 
To the soul nearest thee. 



WE MISS HIS FOLLIES. 




OT even one lone talent 
Had he his own to call ; 
He was so weak and erring, 
Only too like us all. 
But, somehow, earth is lonely 

Since he did from it go ; 
He was alw^ays full of nonsense, 
. And we miss his follies so ! 

How well we all remember 
How we would chaff the lad ! 

He did n't seem to mind it ; 
You could n't get him mad. 



94 A PARADOX, 

But now all that is over 

For he is gone away ; 
But ah ! we miss his follies, 

And miss them shall for aye. 

There are left us many wiser, 

Many better men than he ; 
But the place he filled is vacant, 

And it 's always got to be. 
It 's queer how much we loved him - 

I 'm sure we did n't know 
We 'd feel so lost without him. 

And we 'd miss his follies so. 



A PARADOX. 

AKE the best of it," calmly sings 
Some one, when ills us fetter ; 
How can we make the best of things 
When we can't make them better ? 




CLASS ODE. 



95 




A PARADOX. 

ON'T think of doing such a thing ! " 
His friends sometimes implore. 
^' No, I will not/' he replies, 



•' Till I Ve considered it more." 



CLASS ODE. 

SUNG AT ST. JOHNSBURY, VT., JUNE 21, 1889. 
AIR — "AULD LANG SYNE.'' 




ilPON these dear, familiar grounds 
A little band has met 
To bid adieu to classmates, friends 
We never can forget. 
And when in future years we sing. 

The days of auld lang syne, 

Fond Memory shall lead us first 

To the class of Eighty-nine. 



9^ CLASS ODE, 



II. 



We 're braver for the work of life, 

We 're purer for its play ; 
The golden light of knowledge will 

Illuminate our way. 
And to our teachers, kind and true, 

Our hearts will oft incline. 
And patient Time shall ne'er efface 

The love of Eighty-nine. 

III. 

Our hearts are sad this parting hour, 

They feel a mystic spell ; 
Our trembling lips are loth to say 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ; 
But when we leave the school of life 

To seek our home divine, 
Oh, then may meet to sing His praise 

The class of Eighty-nine ! 



BOOKS AND FRIENDS. 97 




BOOKS AND FRIENDS. 

AY aside these books of science, 
Put my Latin out of sight ; 
I am tired. I cannot study. 



Let me talk to you to-night 

Books are precious friends and faithful, 
But they cannot take your hand ; 

They can tell you each his story, 
But yours they cannot understand. 

Turn the light a little lower, 

Draw your chair up close to mine ; 

Let us talk awhile together, 
And forget L. Catiline. 

Oh, I 'm sick for sound of voices. 
And for laughter, sweet and low ; 

For these orators are tongueless, 
And these friends no smile bestow. 



98 MOUNTAINS GREEN 

Books cannot with eyes of hazel 
Look into your own, my dear ; 

They can speak in every language, 
But no answer can they hear. 

'T is the sweetest part of friendship 

To be giving day by day, 
But these friendly books lack nothing 

That I have to give away. 

Shut your book and lay it down, here ; 

You are tired as well as I. 
Let us rest awhile together 

And forget that books are nigh. 



MOUNTAINS GREEN WITH SPRUCE AND 
PINE. 




OUNTAINS green with spruce and pine, 

Mountains rough and ragged, 
Cutting scallops on the sly 
With their summits jagged, 



MOUNTAINS GREEN 99 

Distant mountains, dim and blue, 

In the summer hazy, 
Mountains by October dressed 

With a splendor crazy, 

Mountains white, with rainbow hues 

Their robes trimmed eve and morning — 

Is n't this the very spot 
For a poet to be born in ! 



100 



'' DRYIN'-APPLE TIME:' 



" DRYIN'-APPLE TIME." 




|HEN autumn nights are coming, 



With apples red and prime, 
To me there comes a picture 
Of '^ dryin'-apple time ; " 
And round the old pine table 
Sweet fancy doth us bring, 
And father pares, and mother cores, 
And John and Mary string. 

'T was in the little kitchen 

Together we would sit ; 
And if it was old-fashioned 

We minded not a bit. 
With story and with laughter 

The evening sped away, 
For we thought '' doin' apples " 

Was just as good as play. 



Back in the chimney corner 
The old rack used to be ; 

Home-made, and big, and clumsy - 
How plainly it I see ! 



TWO HEARTS. lOl 

With rows of nails upon it 

The strings of fruit to hold, 
That grew more brown and shriveled 

As each day onward rolled. 

Ah ! those were happy evenings 

But they for us are o'er ; 
Around the old pine table 

We '11 have such fun no more ; 
With our free, childish laughter 

The kitchen ne'er shall ring 
While father pares, and mother cores, 

And John and I shall string. 

TWO HEARTS. 



IT seemed to one so sad, so great, a thing,' 
When first his heart received that mortal 
blow, 

When first he understood he ne'er should know 
Again that gladness that was wont to spring 
Unbid. He groaned with pain ; his hands did 
wring. 
His own heart broke, and he had loved it so ! 
His only heart ! alas, alas, his woe ! 
HoAv could the skies be fair and robins sing ? 




102 TIVO HEARTS, 

His self, his life, his heart — 't was all he had ! 
Nor had God any duplicate to give 
Him, that he might again hope life to live. 

And all was lost. Was ever aught so sad .'* 

Why should his only life be thus undone ? 

And ah ! his life was scarcely yet begun. 

11. 

Upon another's heart there fell a blow, 
A blow as dreadful, but the only sign 
He gave was that more like to the divine 

And holy Sufferer who dwelt below, 

He, as his days passed slowly by, did grow. 
And, questioning not God's all-wise design, 
"The Lord is good. His will be done, not 
mine," 

Came only from his lips in all his woe. 

He heard, at length, his stricken brother's cry ; 

He heard, at length, that selfish, bitter plaint ; 

And where he sat as patient as a saint 
He said unto his friends who were him nigh, 
'' God help him, in whom self-love hath such part . 
That to break down the will doth break the heart." 




DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME, 103 



THE SONG. 

|E know the song, maid ; 
There is but one 
Hearts sing so gladly 
In the summer sun. 
Sing it, and sing it, 

All day long. 
What cheers the heart 
Like a good old song } 

DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE. 

HOU art like a flower. 
So fair and pure thou art ; 
But, gazing on thee, sadness 
Stealeth into my heart. 

I long to lay my hands 

On thy head, with the prayer 

That God will keep thee ever 
So sweet, and pure, and fair. 




104 LITTLE MARGERY WAITS, 




LITTLE MARGERY WAITS. 

GLIMPSE of her form so slender 

I caught through the lilac boughs, 
As I made haste up the pathway 
Where lately were spoke our vows. 
And I sang to myself so softly, 

As I n eared the old-fashioned gates, 
" O happy, happy heart, for thee 
Little Margery waits ! " • 

Now when I go up the pathway 

The fragrance of lilacs sweet 
Comes down halfway to meet me — 

More quickly I move my feet. 
But when I get to the gateway 

Under the lilacs so fair. 
My Margery is not waiting, 

Little Margery is not there. 

No trace is there left behind her 
To show me whither her feet 



LITTLE MARGERY WAITS. 105 

Have wandered since she was waiting 
With the truest heart that beat ; 

But I sing to myself as softly 
As butterflies to their mates, 

So sure is my heart that somewhere 
Little Margery waits. 

I do not know how to find her ; 

This world is not very wide ; 
The other must be far greater, 

To hold the good that has died. 
But loves must endure forever, 

Whatever becomes of hates, 
And I will wait for Margery, 
For little Margery waits. 



io6 



THE FITTEST, 




AUTUMN'S AVANT-COURIER. 

LITTLE maid in scarlet dress 
Among the August leaves ! 
A glimpse I caught, 
And surely thought 
It was the first branch that the touch 
Of Autumn's red receives. 

Methought the Autumn early come 
To make the woodland gay. 
But lo ! it fled, 
That vision red, 
And then I knew the maid to be 
His avant-courier. 



THE FITTEST. 

HE fittest will survive 
In souls, in everything. 
From every good hope, dead, 
Hope, Phoenix-like, will spring ; 
^T is only doubt and sin 

That need fear perishing. 




THE SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. 107 



THE SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. 




START and stumble, 

Trip and tumble, 
In a hurry, flurry, worry, from the fountain ; 
Over ledges leaping 
Into caverns peeping 
I am skipping, tripping, slipping down the mountain. 

I race and rattle. 
Play and prattle, 
As I chatter, clatter, spatter to the valley ; 
In the forest hiding. 

Through the pasture gliding, 
I am prancing, dancing, glancing without dally. 

I turn and twinkle, 
Crook and crinkle. 
In a mazy, crazy, lazy little river ; 
Sporting in the shadow, 

Mincing through the meadow, 
I am springing, singing, bringing cheer forever. 



lo8 WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES. 






WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES. 

HEN Christmas comes I take a second 
place ; 
I realize how little I can do. 
There 's nothing then left for me but to wait 
In patience till the holidays are through. 

When, lying in their beds, the children hear 
The merry jingle of the reindeer's bells, 

And they can hear upon the roof the din 
That of old Santa's coming surely tells ; 

When, in the morning, their bright eyes can see, 
By daylight's earliest and faintest beam, 

The tracks that they know were made in the snow 
The night before, by Santa's reindeer team, — 

'Tis then I go away all by myself. 

And sit me down, and heave one little sigh ; 

'T is then the poet's occupation 's gone — 
The children can imagine more than I 1 



THE REASON, 



109 



TO MY MUSE. 



^OW didst thou find thy way, my Euterpe, 
Through trackless ether down to my low 

cot ? 

Yet not so hard to guess this seems to me, 

As why my presence ever thou hast sought 




THE REASON. 



HY laud this poet ? few his lines ; 
What claim hath he to glory, pray ? 
Among tlie truly great he shines 
Because of what he did not say. 




no 



A PICTURE. 



ALL ARE POETS. 



HY sayest thou, he is a poet born ? 

What secret deep doth life unto him 
show ? 

Sure all the world were poets, laurel-crowned, 
If only they could write the things they know. 




A PICTURE. 

ESIDE a green-mossed little rill, 
That over rocks of gray 
Trickles with its slumber-song 
All the sleepy day 

A maiden sits a-dreamins:. 




Her work lies folded by her side, 
Her thoughts are far away. 

What sees she in that little rill, 
Crooning soft its lay. 

To make her eyes so beaming ? 



QUEEN VICTORIA 'S BIRTHDAY. 



Ill 



THE POET'S MATERIAL. 



HAVE material enough 

For forty books/' he said. 
He almost took my breath away ; 
Had all his reason fled ? 




But then a recollection came, 
That '^ airy nothing " 't is, 

So Shakespeare says, a poet makes 
Into those books of his. 



SONG FOR MAY TWENTY-FOUR, QUEEN 
VICTORIA'S BIRTHDAY. 




ING a song of May-day, 
Faces full of fun ; 
Four and twenty children 
Dancing in the sun. 
When their romp is over, 

Seated on the green, 
Is n't this a dainty w^ay 
Of honoring the queen ? 



112 AN AUGUST IDYL, 




AN AUGUST IDYL. 

GRACEFUL bushes, tall and slender, 
Bending, by the breeze caressed, 
Yield thy sweetest, sweetest berries 
For the maid I love the best. 

Luscious berries, black and shining, 
, Doth my pretty Phyllis love. 
Phyllis is as fair as Helen, 

And to love all hearts doth move. 

I will heap my rustic basket, 

I will wreathe it all with green, 
I will put my kiss upon it. 

And will bear it to my queen. 

Ah ! these briars, how they scratch me ; 

And the sun shines down so hot ! 
But my Phyllis loves blackberries, 

And will pay ten cents a quart. 



DREAMLAND HOLDS NO FAIRER SCENE, 1 13 




DREAMLAND HOLDS NO FAIRER SCENE. 

LL Dreamland holds no fairer scene 

Than I beheld last night ; 
For over slopes of pleasant green 
My longing heart's beloved queen 
Did pass before my sight. 

All Dreamland holds no sweeter note 

Than blest mine ear last night ; 
For from my darling's lovely throat 
My name to me the breeze did float, 

In accents soft and light. 

All Dreamland holds no purer bliss, 

Than filled my heart last night ; 
For over stream, mead, crag, abyss, 
I flew to her, her lips to kiss, 

And woke of my delight. 



1 14 WIIA T HA VE THE DA YS BROUGHT ^ 




WHAT HAVE THE DAYS BROUGHT THEE? 

|]HAT have the days brought thee, friend, 
As they have joined the past ? 
What have the days brought thee, friend, 
Since I saw thee last ? 
What have the days brought thee ? 

A faith that God increaseth, 

A hope for what none see, 
A love that never faileth, 

The days have brought to me. 
What have the days brought thee ? 

Out of the desert rivers, 

That run into the sea ; 
Out of the rock the honey. 

The days have brought to me. 
What have the days brought thee ? 



A LITTLE TRAVELER, 115 



A LITTLE TRAVELER. 




HERE 's a merry little traveler 
Coming, coming, 
Coming to visit you and me. 
His step is light, 
His face is bright. 
And his smile is pleasant to see. 

His home was in the Future 

Golden, golden, 
But now he 's going to the Past ; 

And on his way, 

A little he '11 stay^ 
To make us a visit at last. 

He has many, many brothers 

Elder, elder, 
Who this same way have trod before. 

They lingered, too, 

As they passed through, 
To make a visit at each door. 



ii6 



THE CHANGED CROWNS. 



Do you know this little traveler 

Coming, coming, 
Coming to visit you and me ? 

'T is the glad New Year ; 

He '11 soon be here. 
May he a blessing bring to thee ! 



THE CHANGED CROWNS. 




NCE the king of Sleepy-land 
Met the queen of Weepy-land 
Going to the town ; 
And because he had no hat 
Lifted he instead of that 
Gracefully his crown. 



As the queen so sweet and shy 
Raised to him her pretty eye, 
With a tear-drop in it, 
" What a lovely crown ! " she said. 
"' May I put it on my head 

Just one little minute ? " 



THE CHANGED CROWNS. 117 

To the queen of Weepy-land 
Said the king of Sleepy-land, — 

He was gay and bold, — 
"Certainly, your majesty. 
If you '11 loan your crown to me 

So I won't take cold." 

" Nay, but keep it ; it 's so big 
That I wear an extra wig ; 

Don't you think it strange ? " 
Said the king, " And mine 's so small 
I can scarce wear it at all. 
And so let 's exchange." 

Then the king of Sleepy-land 
And the queen of Weepy-land 

Joyfully did say, 
'* Nothing troubles us a bit, 
For we 've both got crowns to fit." 

And they went their way. 



ii8 



WHA T BOON TO THE SEA, 



'SPECIALLY ME." 



ETH, our pet, her pra37er was saying 
Close beside lier mother's knee, 
And this was the way she ended : 
" God bless us all, — 'specially me." 




And her words set me to thinking. 

Was she selfish more than I ? 
Had not my own heart, half thoughtless, 

Made the same un-Christlike cry ? 

And my prayer that night was humbler, 

For I plainer seemed to see 
God's great mercy, and the weakness 

Of us all, — 'specially me. 



WHAT BOON TO THE SEA. 

HAT boon to the sea are the ships 
That over her safely glide ? 
'T is only the vessels wrecked 
That she may in her bosom hide. 




DEA TH OF PHILLIPS BROOKS. i iq 




FASTER LET ME LEARN. 

]E cried, " Oh, faster, Teacher, let me learn ! 
For all these lessons faithfully I've 
conned; 

Mine eager eyes do yearn to look beyond 
This leaf. I pray Thou wilt Thy pages turn." 

But thus to him in graciousness replied 

His loving Teacher : " Thou shalt yet excel ; 
Thy Teacher, who doth understand thee well, 

Thy progress seeth, and is satisfied." 

ON THE DEATH OF PHILLIPS BROOKS. 




HOU who hast helped us all our grief to 
bear, 
Who by thy boundless sympathy didst 
show 
A love as pure, divine, as mortals know, 
Thou who hast made the woes of earth thy care — 
How unlike thee it is to cause this woe. 
The only woe thy great heart could not share ! 



I20 SACRIFICE, 




SACRIFICE. 

CAME to Thee, and, Lord, at Thy com- 
mand, 
Laid my ambition down, when glory 
seemed 
As sweet as life. This gave I first, and deemed 
It was enough. I did not understand 
In those old days that Thou wouldst still demand 

That which was costliest. I never dreamed 
How Thou couldst bid me offer, and my hand 
Could slay, when first those altar-fires gleamed. 

Thou gavest me back a purer self again 

Each time, Lord, that I gave myself to Thee. 

Who for Thee loseth life, or what may pain 
Him more, beginneth Thy great love to see. 

For what could there have been for Thee to gain 
When Thou didst sacrifice Thyself for me ! 



A T MR, BOBOLINK'S. 1 2 1 




AT MR. BOBOLINK'S. 

OB O'LINCOLN gave a party, 
And a jolly host was he. 
"Bobolink!" said he, "you're welcome.. 
Glad to see you. Chee ! chee! chee ! " 

In the meadow 't was he gave it 

To the east and to the west 
He had sent his invitations 

To the friends he loved the best. 

With his cousin Wren to aid him, 

Robert and his little dame 
Sat upon a grass-head, swinging, 

Speaking cheer to all that came. 

First there came the Lark, sweet singer, 
Then the Sparrow, plainly dressed, 

And the honest Robin with him, 
Shining in his Sunday best. 



122 AT MR. BOBOLINK'S. 

The Quail, the Hen, and the Pigeon 

Came together in a hack ; 
And the Crow was close behind them, 

Neatly dressed in sober black. 

On a pony came the Swallow, 
And the Turkey rode a goat ; 

From Australia came the Lyre-bird 
In a gayly painted boat. 

The Eagle, and the Hawk, and Condor, 
Walked together all the way, 

And the Thrush, and Dove, and Cuckoo, 
Somewhat later in the day. 

It was not till nearly sunset 

That the Nightingale appeared. 

And that she could not be present 
At the party, some had feared. 

Last of all the Owl came slowly, 
Gravest, wisest, of the birds. 

And a band of his admirers 

Gathered near to hear his words. 

Mrs. Owl sat in a corner, 
And a sorry Owl was she. 



A T MR. BOBOLINK'S, 1 23 

For she had n't brought her glasses, 
And 't was so light she could n't see, 

But the Hen discovered quickly 

Why she sat there all alone, 
And begged of the Bat, a servant, 

A pair almost like her own. 

Soon the dinner was all ready. 
And the hum of voices ceased 

For a moment, as the party 
Took their places at the feast. 

Grace was said by Mr. Sparrow. 

Mrs. Parrot and the Jay 
Brought the courses from the kitchen, 

And the dishes took away. 

Sure the cooks, the Goose and Pheasant, 

Had exhausted all their skill, 
And were never richer dainties 

Relished with a better will. 

Master Robert read the letters 
Of regret with great parade 
From the Stork, and Swan, and Linnet, 
^^ And much merriment he made. 



124 AT MR. BOBOLINK'S. 

Toasts were given by the Robin ; 

And the Eagle made a speech 
Which was listened to intently 

And received applause from each. 

Spinster Cuckoo read a poem 
In the peaceful evening hush ; 

The Canary sang a solo, 

And another sang the Thrush. 

Then a duet gave the Swallow 

With the lively little Wren, 
And the gay host sang a medley, 

And a ballad sang the Hen. 

Some one called upon the Peacock, 

But, if only truth were told, 
His song was a wretched failure 

And he said he had a cold. 

Quickly did the minutes follow 
Minutes in a wondrous flight ; 

All too soon farewells were spoken — 
" Good night, Bob o' Link, good night ! *' 



WOODLAND BLOSSOMS. 125 



WOODLAND BLOSSOMS. 




r UCH a beautiful bank of woodland flowers, 
Fragile, and slender, and white as snow ! 
I grieved that their names I did not know j 
But I noted the spot — where an ash towers, 

Shading a stream that, gentle and slow, 

Feeds the grasses and makes them to grow, 
And that laughs away all the summer hours — 

Right under the tree they bloom, and, oh, 

I wanted to pluck the blossoms so 1 
I was tempted to desecrate those bowers. 

But I broke one flowret's stem, and, lo ! 

From the bank its beauty seemed to go ; 
Began to lessen its charming powers, 

And the flowret looked forlorn. *' No, no,'' 

Said I, " I '11 pluck thee not, sweet flowers, though 
None but me in all this world of ours 

E'er shall see you or know where you blow. 

Better in beauty, the ash below. 

To grace the bank where lowly you grow. 

But would I could take you, and leave you also 1 



126 EXCELSIOR, 




EXCELSIOR. 

HERE was a time 
When just the pressure of a hand 
Would make his heart forget its ache. 
Life seemed a thing more grand, more sweet, 
When he that hand in his could take. 

There was a time 

When just to look upon that face 

And read the love imprinted there 

Would cheer and strengthen his faint heart 

And rest his spirit like a prayer. 

There was a time 

Where just to think how true she was 
Would make him truer all day long ; 
He sang in spite of toil and want. 
Although alone he sang his song. 



MUSIC'S MINISTRY, 



127 




MUSICS MINISTRY. 

HE soul of the master was full of music, 
And his fingers knew the keys 
As the heart knows its longing. 



His locks were whitened by his many winters, 
And whiter his winters, too, 
Passing, had left his spirit. 

Before him rose the sweet pipes of the organ, 
Each with its different note, 
Like the sweet lives of Christians. 

Descended from the Shepherd on the window 
A mild, beneficent light 
And rested on a stranger. 



The music ceased, and the smile of the Shepherd 
Rested on one of the fold 
Where the stranger had listened. 



128 



FOESY. 




POESY. 

IE prayed for poesy, that matchless gift, 
And heavenly, which God doth sometimes 
deign 

To let man trifle with, though all inane 
And idle be his efforts to uplift 
His soul in one sweet, perfect song. And swift 
And sure he thought the answer to obtain 
To this his prayer — for we pray not in vain — • 
Or e'er the trickling hour-glass sands could shift. 



But, answering, the Father took His rod 
And smote upon his barren, rocky heart. 
He nigh had fainted, strength-spent, when apart 

'' 'T is thine," unto him spake the voice of God. 
Now from clefts of a chastened heart men know 

The purest streams of poesy do flow. 



THE SNOW, 



129 



EAST AND WEST. 




HEY love the east who wait the dawn ; 
The east they fix their eyes upon, 
And out the eastern window far they lean, 

That his face may be sooner seen. 

But all their tents are open toward the west 
Who w^ait for rest. 



THE SNOW. 

The streets are dumb with snow. — Tennyson. 

IKE first love comes the first glad snow- 
storm down. 
So lightly is the sky o'ercast, the blue 
In little ragged pieces sboweth through, 
And laughingly the children of the town 
Try to catch the flakes on their faces brown. 




But when the deeper snows of winter come 
The streets are silent, they with snow are dumb. 



130 SHUT IN, 




SHUT IN. 

HUT out from active service, 
Shut in with pain and grief ; 
The days are wasting, wasting, 
And Ufe at most is brief. 

My heart would ache, my sisters. 

To think of all you bear. 
Did I not know the Father 

Will answer each child's prayer. 

The hands that He so idle. 

And long to labor so, 
The feet that would be active, 

And not a step can go. 

The Father's eye doth surely 
See from His throne above ; 

And less, methinks. He prizeth 
Our labor than our love. 



FAITH, 

To bear is often harder 
Than to go forth and do, 

And the Lord understandeth 
The cross that He gives you. 

He needeth not the labor 
Of those He sets apart, 

But always, always, always, 
He does desire the heart. 

And oh ! what joy, what rapture^ 
To hear at last, '' Well done ! '' 

For, maybe, up in Heaven 
To will and do are one. 



i^i 



FAITH. 



AYS, blessings laden, are passing; 
We touch their garments' hem ; 
But ah ! to us faith is lacking. 
We are not blessed by them. 




132 BEHOLD HOW HE LO VED HIM! 




BEHOLD HOW HE LOVED HIM! 

John xi. 36. 

SISDOM and knowledge are wonderful 
things, 
Of both we have such a need ; 
But nothing a blessing to this world brings 
Like love that is love indeed. 

Talent may dazzle and genius surprise 

The world into passing heed. 
But the world cannot forget if it tries 

A love that is love indeed. 

Books may be written and sermons be preached 

On many a varying creed, 
But when the heart of the world is reached 

'T is by love that is love, indeed. 

Reformers may labor with zeal and art 

And never one upward lead, 
But that which will soften the world's great heart 

Is love that is love indeed. 



WITHIN THE WIIDWOOD. 133 

If there is a heart that would be forgot, 

Let it hate with all its speed ; 
For this shrewd old world will save up its thought 

For love that is love indeed. 




WITHIN THE WILDWOOD. 

STOOD within the wildwood 

At setting of the sun, 
I saw the little birds to bed, 
For all their work was done j 

I stood within the wildwood, 

At closing of the day, 
The dew was falling round me 

On fern and flower and spray ; 

I stood w^ithin the wildwood. 
And this thought came apace : 

Who would n't be a birdling 
And live in such a place 1 



134 THE TEAR-DROP, 




THE TEAR-DROP. 

TEAR-DROP lay on Eva's cheek ■ 

Would I could make you see I 
To cover it up she did seek — 
Would I could make you see ! 

Her pretty, chubby, rosy hand — 

Would I could make you see ! 
To hide behind it she had planned — 

Would I could make you see ! 

But bits of her fair cheek peeped out — 

Would I could make you see ! 
Between those dimpled bars so stout — 

Would I could make you see ! 

What was it like ? What shall I say ? 

Would I could make you see ! 
Rose-leaves, dew wet, at dawning day? 

Would I could make you see 1 



A LONGING. 13s 

Or berries, whereon doth appear — 

Would I could make you see ! 
One drop of wounded sweetness clear ? 

Would I could make you see ! 




A LONGING. 

||H, when I think how low I am, 
How sinful and how weak, 
And then of all the precious things 
God deigns to me to speak^ 

The revelations of himself 

That He doth make to me, 
And all the beauty in His truth 

That my poor eyes can see, 

Then 't is my "soul would long to know, 

If such bliss could be mine, — 
The revelations that God makes 

Unto a soul like thine. 



136 SILENCE. 




SILENCE. 

CANNOT ask Thee to be kind, 

Thou who art love, 
For it would be to doubt Thy word 
Who reignest above. 

I have few prayers to offer Thee 

In sun or storm, 
So firmly I believe Thy vows 

Thou wilt perform. 

Thou wilt be with me evermore 

My soul to bless, 
If this or Jordan's other shore 

My feet shall press. 

In love that casteth out all fear, 

Perfect, complete, 
I would but put my hand in Thine 

In silence sweet. 



